


when & where

by dansunedisco



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, First Kiss, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabelle tilts her head. “Am I reading this wrong?”</p><p>There’s two possibilities here, Clary thinks. Either they’re on the same page entirely and completely, and she should really get to kissing Isabelle before someone comes by to hurry them along -- or she’s going to suffer from majorly major pining for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when & where

**Author's Note:**

> because clary and izzy before the club scene needed some kissing, am i right? :')

The girl staring back at her in the mirror is -- well, it’s _her_ , but the reflection is so _not_ that Clary can hardly believe it _is_ her. Tiny, strappy black dress; platform heels to match; long, bare legs. She half-turns.

 _And major boobage,_ she thinks. _What are you doing, Clary?_

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asks. She’s lounging comfortably in her high backed chair, ankles crossed. She’s playing absently with the ends of her hair. There’s an open book in her lap -- “Runes, runes, and more runes,” she explained with an eyeroll, when Clary asked -- but all her attention is now on Clary.

Clary sighs. “This isn’t really my style,” she replies, tugging the hem of the dress down an inch. A second later, it springs right back up. “My aesthetic is more…”

“Low-key coffee house, yeah, I know,” Isabelle finishes, frustrated but not unkind, and flips the book closed. She gets up and joins Clary at her mirror-front post; close enough Clary is _positive_ she can feel the heat from Isabelle’s skin against hers. It’s -- strangely comforting, the two of them standing together.

“What if I go with --”

“Jeans and Converse won’t pass in the club,” Isabelle says patiently. Surprisingly so, if Clary’s being honest. She’s been playing dress-up for the past hour, with no luck and no outfit. “I’m not even sure why you want to change. You look _hot_. You’ve looked hot in everything.”

Clary flushes. “Um. Thanks.”

The fact that Isabelle -- gorgeous, sexy Isabelle -- thinks she looks _hot_ is a serious confidence boost. Like a weird adrenaline cocktail. Compliments from girls always were.

It’s strange. She _knows_ she’s good-looking, in a way. Cute, flirty. A girl next door type. But next to Isabelle, she feels different. She looks different, too, and it’s not just the clothes, the heels, the cleavage. She looks _dangerous._ Like she belongs here, in Isabelle’s room, in her clothes. She imagines the two of them here under different, less mission-related circumstances, and bites her bottom lip.

She brushes her hair back over her shoulders, and she catches Isabelle’s eyes in the mirror, sees the way her gaze dips down to Clary’s collarbones. She heart rate ticks up. _No way_ , she thinks. _There’s no way --_

“How about you pick my dress for tonight?” Isabelle asks. Her eyes are back up, but there’s a glint in her look that wasn’t there before. “Maybe that’ll calm you down.”

“Doubt it,” she murmurs, but she goes back to the walk-in anyway. By the time she comes back, her two choices in hand, Isabelle is slipping out of her knee-high boots. She drops down three inches instantly.

“Oh, the gold one is _gorgeous_ ,” she says. She turns her back to Clary. “Can you get the zipper?”

“You’re wearing a crop-top,” Clary blurts out, because can’t she just -- shrug out of it?

Isabelle glances over her shoulder. There’s definitely a playful smile on her face. “It’s tight.”

 _I know_ , she thinks. She drapes the dresses over the chair arm and swallows. Zipping Isabelle out of her tiny top shouldn’t be so -- so _something_ , but it is. She yanks the zipper down as efficiently as possible, and steps back. Of course, Isabelle turns around, and pulls the neck down. The top drops away. Her bra is black, the top of the cups cut out and inlaid with a red mesh.

Clary can’t breathe.

Isabelle tilts her head. “Am I reading this wrong?”

There’s two possibilities here, Clary thinks. Either they’re on the same page entirely and completely, and she should _really_ get to kissing Isabelle before someone comes by to hurry them along -- _or_ she’s going to suffer from majorly major pining for a while.

She takes a chance. She slides her fingers through Isabelle’s hair, cupping the back of her head, and leans down for a kiss. The chasteness lasts a second -- or three -- until Isabelle tilts her head and parts her lips, tongue darting out to wet the seam of Clary’s mouth. Clary gasps, suddenly buzzed off endorphins. They open against one another, each kiss running into another and another. It feels like the room -- the world -- falls away.

Footsteps in the hallway breaks the spell. They don’t break apart, but no one comes in.

Clary shakes her head clear. “Whoa.”

Isabelle grins. The same deviousness before is back in spades, and Clary finds herself smiling back just as fiercely. “Tell me about it,” she says. “Come on, we can figure things out after the mission.”

Clary nods, trying and failing to slip into seriousness. They still need to talk, but Isabelle's right -- they have work to do.


End file.
